


Mess Is Mine

by wanderinghooves



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Abduction Arc (X-Files), Abduction mention, Canon Compliant, Canon Related, Episode: s02e08 One Breath, F/M, Fox Mulder Angst, Happy Ending, Heart-to-Heart, Hurt Dana Scully, I Care About You, Light Angst, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Missing Scene, POV Fox Mulder, Post-Episode: s02e08 One Breath, Protectiveness, Strong and Sassy Female Character, Worry, hand holding, i felt like something along these lines happened between one breath and firewalker, mulder cares a lot but doesn't know how to adequately express it, scully doesn't like being pandered to
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-07
Updated: 2019-04-07
Packaged: 2020-01-06 03:46:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18380315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wanderinghooves/pseuds/wanderinghooves
Summary: At some indefinite point and by some indiscernible method, Scully had managed to worm her way into the very center of his being. He’d only fully realized it when she’d been ripped away from him.(Mulder deals with the emotional fallout of Scully's abduction and return.)





	Mess Is Mine

Most of his fear had evaporated as soon as he’d laid eyes on her in the hospital recovery room after she’d awakened, vibrant and warm and _alive._

The rest had gradually eroded over many successive evenings of phone calls, grinning through her exasperated responses to his persistent “how are you feeling-s” and “are you okay-s” and “can I do anything to help-s,” just to hear her voice, gradually strengthening, on the other end of the line. 

And yet, he still can’t quite allow himself to relax.

On the day she’d been scheduled to report to work, Mulder had set his alarm an hour early. He’d woken up at the first ring, yanked on his clothes without bothering to look, and shaved so rapidly he cut himself a half dozen times. He’d driven to work fifteen-over the speed limit, parked haphazardly in the first available spot, and practically sprinted to the basement office.

She’d always come in at precisely seven-thirty, according to the timesheets she kept for the payroll office. Mulder otherwise wouldn’t have had any idea, ambling in at least forty-five minutes later every day.

That morning, he’d situated himself at his desk by seven-twenty. 

The wait was impatient, his gaze boring into the clock above the door as if it was conspiring to keep Scully away from him. He had gnawed fretfully on sunflower seeds as the minutes ticked by for years.

When he’d finally heard the turn of the doorknob, he’d sat bolt upright, fixated.

Scully hadn’t betrayed any especial emotion upon her return to the office. She’d greeted him with a cordial smile, stripped off her overcoat, and slid into her traditional seat opposite him without so much as a word. 

As he’d watched her busy herself poring over a stack of potential cases, Mulder had felt like he’d been suddenly and bizarrely charged with enough electricity to set off a small fire. 

This sensation has yet to abate in the subsequent days.

Scully’s presence in the office, once unfamiliar and then sociable and then vacuum-like in her absence, has become unavoidably magnetic. His pages of news clippings, witness transcriptions, and blurry Polaroids, usually so engrossing, pale in interest. Even when he’s trying his best, Mulder’s attention invariably drifts back to whatever she is currently doing, whether it be rapping a pen against a page of particularly frustrating paperwork, flicking a loose strand of hair from her face, or subconsciously fiddling with the cross charm of her necklace.

He’s never quite realized just how small she is, or how slight. Scully has always cut an imposing figure in his mind, bolstered by her shrewdness and sharp wit. But now, after her abduction has robbed her of three months and fifteen pounds, she looks brutally mortal, a delicate figurine. 

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Mulder worries that if he isn’t paying attention, she’ll shatter and vanish. 

When he arrives in the mornings, he’s taken to grabbing a coffee for her (black) as well as himself (two sugars) in the breakroom on the way to the basement. He’s done this before on charitable occasion but now finds himself pouring for two more often than one, static pricks racing up his arm every time her fingers brush against his hand in retrieval of her cup with the reminder that she is here with him.

Mulder wants to tell her how much he missed her, how lost he’d felt when she was gone, how guilty he feels for her abduction, but he can’t seem to fit the magnitude into words. He’s the one that had pushed for the very inception of the X-Files and had marched forward with full knowledge of the increasing danger at every step. Scully had been assigned with no fundamental knowledge or context, and had nearly died because of it. If she suffered for the sake of his progress, he doesn’t think he could live with it. 

At some indefinite point and by some indiscernible method, Scully had managed to worm her way into the very center of his being. He’d only fully realized it when she’d been ripped away from him.

He’s also pretty sure she’s been onto his musings this entire time, because she finally chews him out.

It’s a particularly flagrant instance when she chooses to strike. She’s been sifting through a folder of recently submitted autopsy reports which Mulder is supposed to be helping with; however, as is now usual, he’s devolved into gazing at her as she works and has managed to do so for a full five minutes, his stack of reports left ignored.

Thus, he’s completely unprepared for when her eyes flash up to meet his.

His immediate reflex is to glance away, jolting his attention to the clearly untouched reports in his lap. 

“Mulder.”

He can’t really deflect that.

“Yeah?”

“Mulder. Look at me.”

He hesitantly returns his gaze to her. She’s straightened herself to her fullest height in her seat and is glaring back at him with clear annoyance.

“Stop doing that.”

He feels an unhelpful heat rise in his chest.

“Doing what?”

“Looking at me like I’m going to fall apart at any second.”

“I’m not.”

“Yes, you are. Everyone is, but you’re the worst.”

After a pause, Mulder gains a little courage, sliding the stack of reports to his desk and meeting her stare in full.

“I don’t know if you recall, but you were just missing for three months and in a coma for twelve days. I think I can reserve the right to be concerned.”

She scoffs at him.

“It’s been two and a half weeks since I was fully released, Mulder. I’m fine. I am completely fit to work, and if I wasn’t, you know I wouldn’t do the Bureau the disservice of being here.”

He leans back and looks at the ceiling, exasperated. 

“I believe you. That’s not the problem.”

She cocks her head, half-sardonic.

“Well, what _is_ the problem, then?”

“The problem is that it’s my crap that got you hurt in the first place, and I can’t let that happen again.”

His voice rises as the sentence continues, and she looks at him incredulously.

“Mulder, you know there was nothing you could have possibly done to predict my abduction.”

He’s still looking at the ceiling.

“I could’ve killed Duane Barry when I’d had the chance.”

She tosses a hand in the air, shaking her head.

“Yes, you could’ve shot him essentially in cold blood, completely violating Bureau policy and the entire function of the justice system. Do you hear yourself right now?”

He shifts back to glare at her.

“It would’ve kept you safe from my mess.”

She just stares back, unmoved.

“May I remind you that I have a gun and badge just like you do? I can take care of myself. What happened to me wasn’t your fault, Mulder, and you’re delusional if you keep thinking that it was.”

There’s silence for a moment, and then he sighs flatly, shaking his head. Scully is undaunted and leans forward towards him. 

“Mulder, when I got this assignment, I knew there would be risks. I was offered this position and I chose it of my own accord. Stop acting like you’re the only one with any control here.”

Suddenly, he feels her hand grasp his, and despite his anger he feels that same electric pulse course down his spine. He can’t formulate a response. When she speaks, her voice is even.

“This isn’t your mess anymore Mulder, it’s mine too. You have to reconcile yourself with that.”

He closes his eyes briefly in silent resignation. When he looks back at her, she’s wearing an expression of such earnestness that he feels goosebumps rise on his neck.

After consideration, he squeezes her hand, as she’s left it on his.

“I can’t lose you, Scully.”

A faint pink rises in her face, and after a moment she squeezes his hand in return.

“Then maybe you should be a team player with these reports.”


End file.
